Understanding
by ChiaraStorm
Summary: This road will never end. It probably goes all around the world. Author's Note added.
1. Chapter I: Mike

I finally got My Own Private Idaho as a category on this website! Sorry, I'm ecstatic about this. My Own Private Idaho is one of my favourite films, and though as I rule I don't write slash, I adored the Scott/Mike relationship so much that I just had to write this. It's not graphic, don't worry. It's more about their feelings etc.

I'm sure my little fic would love some company…hint hint. So subtle, I know.

If anyone wants to obsess over My Own Private Idaho with me, please email me. I love talking to people who share my obsessions.

**Disclaimer:** I own bugger-all of My Own Private Idaho, or anything affiliated with it.

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter I: Mike**

I never thought it would be like this.

I loved him. I fucking loved him. And here I am now, just where I started.

This is nowhere.

God is nowhere.

I don't know why I thought that. I can kinda remember stuff from when I was a kid, sometimes, at Christmases, you know, shit like that, when some people would talk about thanking God. I didn't understand it then. What did we have to thank God for? Everything was okay anyway. I had Mom. I had Richard. As far as I was concerned, everything was okay.

And then, later, when I was on the streets, you'd occasionally get religious fuckers coming over to you, wanting to help you. Save you, they said. I remember this one time, when they came over. It was December, and so fucking freezing that I thought that if I lay down on the road and closed my eyes, I'd freeze to the road in sleep.

They wanted to talk to us. They didn't get a chance to say so much. But they looked so normal, like something out of one of those billboard commercials. Like they had a good, safe home to go to. And more normal people to live with them.

At that moment, I felt so dumb, so…stupid, sitting in front of a fucking bus shelter that smelt like someone had taken a piss in there and then thrown up just to make it worse, in a cheap jacket and worn down, taped together cowboy boots.

If they had asked, I'd have gone with them.

But Scott was there, and he told them to fuck off.

I didn't know him that well then. He turned up, outta nowhere, and immediately started to rule the place. Bob liked him already, but just as a fuck. He didn't know who he was. Yet.

I was kinda wondering why he'd done that. He was here just for a bet. He was here just to piss off his parents. If it didn't work, he'd just waltz back in through their door, and make up a bunch of stuff, saying one thing and meaning another. If he failed, he'd have someplace to go. He always has someplace to go. If I failed, I'd be alone. Funny. Scott couldn't fail. He didn't know what it was like to fail. He couldn't.

I could.

I wish I could be more like Scott. Every time he walks into a room, people take notice. If he says something, everyone assumes he's right. He's always hiding an ace up his sleeve, he's always kept his cool. He's, like, pure fucking charisma.

He's also so sharp. Like, he doesn't worry about what he says, because every word that comes out of his mouth is perfect. He knows how to get around people. He knows how to make you think he's said one thing, when in fact he's meant something else. He always tells the truth. Sometimes that can hurt though. Sometimes I wish he'd lie to me. Isn't it better to feel something good with a lie?

The first time I met Scott, I had a feeling he was a sort of comic book hero. He was always saying the right thing at the right moment, and standing up for me when there was no reason to. When I think of his face, when the sunlight shines off his lower lip, it is like it is the face of some sort of statue. Strong and soft at the same time. I never could figure out what Scott was doing here with us on the street in the first place, like he was on some sort of crusade, to help the poor. Because he really did come from a rich Portland family. I know because he brought me to his house one day and showed me around. I mean, wow, they were rich. They even had a swimming pool. Scott's the only kid that I had ever met that had a swimming pool. I'd make a bet with anybody right now, that Scott is a saint or a hero, or some such higher placed person.

He could make you feel good right at the very time that you felt so bad. I remember there were many times that I had been sobbing in Scott's arms and he was helping me out too. He was the great protector of us all, and the great planner. He gave us hope in the future. Even though there was no future.

I hate him.

I love him.

The fields before me stretch out. Endless.

Infinite.

Abandoned.

Just like me.

I wish I knew where I was. Not that it would matter. Outta all the roads out there, I pick the one that is totally fucking uninhabited. No car was ever going to pass by.

This road is dead.

It's timeless though. There's no reason to know the time. We are without time.

I'm stuck in this life. Even if there was such a thing as a normal life for me, I'd never be able to escape these memories. You don't sell your ass for years and not have a few scars. But deeper are the scars that everyone else left. Every person you could call friend...Scott didn't seem to remember though. A couple of hundred grand and suddenly everything he had done was forgotten. I wonder how many of those suits at that restaurant know what he did. I wonder if his…wife knows what he did.

This is the same road as before. With the same fucked up face. Two cactuses for eyes, a cloud shadow for a mouth and the mountains for hair. The same fucked up face that seems to haunt me wherever I am.

I sit down at the side of the road, my ass in the dust and my feet in the hot gravel. The rabbits around the road are hiding in the grass, visible but not coming any nearer. They don't want to be around someone like me. No-one can stand being close to me. The only people in my whole life who have held me have been my mom and Scott.

Both of them are gone now.

The last time I was on this road, I showed the fucked up face to Scott. He'd laughed. I always wondered whether he knew the meaning of the term fucked up. He'd call himself a fuck up, to describe how his parents felt about him, but he didn't know the meaning of the term. He doesn't seem to get that other people have problems. Ones that you can't solve.

Like the fact I love him.

And I know he can't love me back.

I always knew he couldn't love me back. He said it himself, he only slept with guys for money. And doing it for free makes you grow wings. I wonder how he got so cynical, locked up in his mansion. Apparently that philosophy doesn't apply to Italian girls.

If I could pay him to love me, I'd give him every fucking penny I had.

But he wouldn't take it.

I felt my fingers twitching, the same spasms as always. It feels good though. Like all I have to do is wait a few seconds and then I won't remember anything. It's like time travel, I close my eyes, and I'm in a different place.

I lose control of my body. I can feel myself falling to the ground. I fall hard. It seems like it'll hurt, but by the time my body hits the ground, I'm somewhere else.

I'm still falling, head spinning to feet back to head in an endless cycle. This is good. It's like being permanently out of control, but you're so lost you don't notice or care. This was almost the feeling that the coke gave me, but this is better. This is private. This is my escape.

Someone's caught me. The illusion ends, and I stop spinning. Now there's just a comforting blackness.

I open my eyes. This is all way too surreal. I can feel myself being carried, in a car or something like that. It's warmer. Someone's put a blanket or something over me.

I open my eyes. Slowly. They seem so heavy, so difficult to open.

I can see Scott.

Scott Favour.

He's wearing his old brown jacket, and his ripped up jeans. The last time I saw him he was wearing a three-piece suit and looking so unlike himself. Scott just didn't do that. He didn't look all formal. He adapted to any situation, but he didn't need to dress up to do it. It wasn't who he was…

He was himself with all of us.

Then I remembered.

He'd abandoned me in a fucking foreign country for a girl. After I'd told him I'd loved him. His only justification? 'I fell in love'. Fuck that. I wish I could hate him for that.

But I remember all those times he'd made sure I was okay. He'd looked out for me all the time. He'd made sure that no matter what joke or scam he pulled, I always got half the money or credit.

And just for a second, all of that seemed irrelevant. The good and the bad, they both seemed beside the point.

What matters is here and now.

Sometimes I had thought that God had not smiled on me, and had given me a bum deal. And other times, I had thought that God had smiled on me. Like now. He was smiling on me... for the time being...

God is now here.

* * *

Did I get Mike down? If anyone's seen the deleted scenes on the DVD, they'll know it's Richard who picks Mike up. But for me it'll always be Scott…

Please review!


	2. Chapter II: Scott

**NYDreamer **– Thank you for being my first reviewer! Thanks for that bit of info, I've always thought it was Scott, and I would have been devastated to find out it wasn't. I was so worried about not getting Mike down, and your review gave me a lot of confidence. Thank you!

**blue-eyed-blondie **– Yay! Thank you! I've wanted to get a MOPI category for ages, it seemed totally bizarre to me that they didn't have one. Thanks for reviewing!

**nidriel** – Thank you so much! I was so glad that you thought I was getting Mike down. I hope I can live up to your praise!

**Beena-Pani** – I know exactly what you mean. The surreal imagery of the film was just so perfect and out-there, it felt too rich to be captured in words. That was another thing worrying me about this fic, but I'm so happy you thought it was good. Thanks for reviewing!

**LadyOfThieves** – Oh please, you didn't expect anything less, did you? You've known me for ten, eleven years, and you haven't figured out I'm obsessive? hugs

**Ajayd** – Consider it done! I know the feeling, I've got a gazillion stories that I really want to write, but I keep on telling myself that I need to finish some of them first…Thanks for reviewing!

**leighkaty** – Thanks! I was terrified that I'd missed the mark with Mike's character, so thanks for your praise! If you search the miscellaneous movies using the keyword 'Idaho' it turns up about five MOPI fics, some of which are really good. Thanks for putting this on your favourites!

**Jamie** – Yeah, I've always thought that Mike had such blind faith in Scott that it made his rejection even more painful, because it was like him saying that Mike wasn't worthy or something…anyway, analytical ramble over! I've always loved the original script for that, but I think it was a very powerful way to leave it in the actual film. Oh yes, and I'm a geek too (-:

**Starscar** – I could put a really long rambling response here, but I won't because you get enough of that in my emails hugs Thanks for reviewing! And yeah, I love the taped-together cowboy boots. Such powerful imagery…and I'm rambling again. Bad Chiara…

That is the warmest response I've ever got for the first chapter of a story. I should start categories more often (joke). Thank you all again! Your response has totally made my day.

Sorry this has taken a while. For some reason, I thought this chapter, which is in Scott's POV would be easier than Mike's. It turned out not to be. Damn surreal movie…just kidding.

This is most assuredly **not** a one-shot. I have five chapters planned, but it may be more, depending on my inspiration. If I choose to finish this after five chapters, you can bet that I'll be writing another MOPI fic.

On another note, I could really use a beta for this story. My usual writing style is very slap-dash; I write little bits here and there and then put the whole thing together. This works well for the unreal feel of the film, I think, but I would kill for a beta to make sure I'm not making stupid mistakes. If anyone wants to offer, I'll do the same for them. Any volunteers can email me through the link in my profile.

And without further ado…onto the angst!

* * *

**Chapter II: Scott**

This is surreal.

Everything around me feels like it belongs to a stranger. I'm back in my old house, my old room, my old life. It feels like I've never left.

Except for one thing.

It feels so strange around here with Dad's vibrations. He always made his presence felt. He didn't exactly like being ignored. He liked to pretend he was all humble and modest, but he needed to feel respected and admired. It was like a drug for him.

Strange, how he found it so easy to judge me, his own son, and yet he could never see his own faults and failings.

Everything is exactly as I remember it. The maids, still slaves to our every whim, the furniture, still expensive and immaculate, the silver spoons still polished. Everything's exactly the fucking same.

I guess I'm the one who changed.

I always thought that it would be easier to come back here, pick up where I picked off. I wonder whether Bob ever knew what I'd planned. I thought he'd caught me that day, when he'd overheard me in the courtyard. But no, he was too blinded by the promise of money and a better life. I don't blame him. I always knew that he was using me as an eventual source of cash. I don't blame him. I blame me for turning the tables. For being a cold heartless bastard.

I suppose I'm more like my dad than I thought.

I'm lying in bed next to Carmella. It almost feels too warm, the feel of her skin against mine, but I can't push her away. I feel frozen, transfixed here, in this state.

Carmella's body feels so delicate against mine. The last time I was this close to someone it was Mike, out by the campfire. Then, I wasn't too warm. It was just right.

It feels too weird to be returning to this life. I'd never have got back so easily if it weren't for my dad dying. My mom's easy, she's just glad to know where I sleep at night. And she just loves Carmella. She's even asking us about grandchildren. I mean, fuck, one minute I'm too immature and just a complete and utter fuck-up, the next she expects grandchildren? They're seriously twisted. That should be she's twisted. But my father's still going to be commanding this place for a while. He would be so pleased about that.

Though, if he'd got his way, my name would never be spoken again in this house.

Yet here I am, back in the house I grew up in.

That's the thing about my dad. He forces you into a competition you don't even want to take part in. From the second I was born I had to be the first kid in my class to know my times tables, I had to run the fastest, I had to climb the highest. It was taken for granted that I would continue the family legacy, follow his path and go into politics, and do exactly what he told me too.

Yeah right.

He really should have seen this coming.

It was almost entertaining, whenever people came over for an 'upper-class', polite, formal, entirely boring dinner or 'social function' as my mother always referred to them, because someone was bound to comment how different we were. In looks, and in opinions. And every time someone made this comment, he would inwardly groan and change the conversation. He didn't like to think that his only son was going to be so different from him. He didn't like to think that I wasn't going to follow in his path. And he showed me his displeasure in every breath.

I think he cared more for the people who voted for him rather than his own family.

Oh, he did care about what I represented though. I was his son, his heir, the one who would naturally follow in his footsteps. Someone to carry on doing what he was doing.

Right now, my mother's holding up well after the funeral and stuff, even though she knew full well he didn't care about her. It wouldn't surprise me if she'd had a hand in his death herself. Oh no, not directly, but if a whisper of a plot reached her ears she wouldn't exactly warn Dad. I guess he must have loved her at one point, but he criticised everyone, and she was no exception. He almost blamed her for his accident. He always used religion and faith as a crutch, and when he couldn't think of anything sinful enough that he had done to deserve to be put in a wheelchair, so he blamed her. Hypocrite. Of course, then he turned his attention to me, which apparently gave him endless joy.

When I left this house, all that time ago, walked out on my dad and all the shit of this place, I never intended to leave for years. I meant to go for a few months, worry them a bit and then come back. They'd be so glad to have me back, they wouldn't care about my previous misdemeanours.

But I stayed. Something compelled me to stay.

It felt good being out there. We could do whatever the fuck we pleased, even though we had to think about where the next meal was coming from, and more often than not, that involved selling your ass. So what? We were a community. Whatever else, you couldn't want for people and company. Most of all, I felt respected simply for being me. People always expected me to have the answers and the solutions to any problems, and in a way, that felt good. But there was one person who could see me for who I was and not for my family or money or shit like that.

Is it stupid to admit this to myself?

No. Here goes.

I miss Mike.

When I saw him at the funeral, I barely recognised him. He looked at me, I know that much, but I don't know what he saw. He seemed almost manic, frenzied. I know that something's wrong with him. I can tell that simply from looking at him.

Do you know what? We never even talked once about not finding his mom. He cried, and I was there, but not properly there. I was thinking about Carmella. I don't think we said more than a few words about this.

I am a selfish bastard. I can rely on that much.

In the graveyard, I wanted to go over and talk to him, make sure he was okay, but I wasn't sure of the welcome I'd get.

I heard what they were chanting. I know Bob's dead. The strange thing is, I honestly don't care. When I spoke to him in the restaurant, I meant every word, I meant every fucking word. Right then, I was in love with this new independence. No Dad, no Bob…everything is gone apart from me.

I'm free. But alone.

Is this the person I've become?

I don't recognise myself.

Right Favor. No bullshit. Cut through the crap and get to the heart of the problem.

It's this.

I don't love Carmella.

I thought I did, but I guess I was wrong.

Oh God, I feel like shit. Lower than shit. I've always been Scottie Favor, who can do what he likes and looks out for number one. I don't like this feeling of guilt.

In Italy, after we had sex once, she said she loved me. Or at least I think so, she said it softly, as though she was willing me to pretend I didn't hear, and simultaneously me to answer. I had no idea what to do. What the fuck do you say when someone says that to you? Only one person has ever said that to me before. And I had no idea what to say then either. Then, I took the 'no bullshit' approach and spoke the truth, whatever the cost. With Carmella though, I had the feeling that if I said 'I don't love you', she would break. There was something about her that seemed like she was waiting to crack and break. And I loved being with her, she was beautiful, and I was going back to Portland soon.

"T'amo" I said, simply because it was the easiest thing to do. I should have realised that the easiest thing isn't always the right one.

So, one word, and here I am.

One word.

One wrong choice.

One wrong choice. I know that now. One wrong choice. I shouldn't have come back here with Carmella. I should have come back here with Mike.

This realisation made me acutely aware of where I was; lying on a massive bed with Carmella, sleeping on satin sheets and surrounded by the best of everything. It all suddenly felt wrong, and I needed to get out of there. It was too warm, too close, too strange. I slid out of the bed, going slowly and carefully so that I wouldn't wake Carmella up, but it took some trying not to run away and hope that everything is a bad dream, and I'll wake up back on a rooftop. It's like I'm seeing clearly for the first time in a long while.

I staggered into the bathroom, the acidly bright lights hurting my eyes and making my head ache that feels reminiscent of a truly awful hangover. When my eyes can focus again, I stare through the ornate mirror encased within the shitty false golden frame into my own face.

Every single decision I'd made in the last month was coming back to haunt me.

I'm sorry I dragged Carmella to a foreign country.

I'm sorry I left Mike alone.

Everything was so screwed up. This wasn't the way things were meant to be. When did I, of all people, develop a guilty conscience?

I guess I'm making up for lost time.

I've always had the answers. I've always known what to do. I've never been in so much turmoil before.

I've never felt this confused and alone before.

I kept on staring in the mirror. Staring at my own face.

My fucked up face.

Fucked up face.

I suddenly knew where Mike would be.

I moved around the bedroom quickly, getting dressed and grabbing my car keys – part of my dear father's inheritance – and sneaking out of the window. I know, real juvenile, but I didn't want one of the maids to hear me. I just wanted to go like a ghost. Pretend this is all a dream.

I can see my mistake now.

I've become my father. I swore I'd never be like him.

I can make things right though. For Mike, and for me.

The car sprung to life, almost like a living thing. It felt enclosed, boxy. I wanted to get back on the motorbike and feel alive, feel like the wind out there was something animate, wrapping its fingers around me and causing my pulse rate to soar.

I started to drive, fast, almost guided by instinct to the inter-state. I hadn't really stopped to think about what I was doing. All I knew was that this was the first smart idea I'd had in a long time, and I owed it to Mike. He probably never realised it, but he did so much for me in just being there. Now, I want to be there for him.

I'd missed my first chance. Now I was going to get a second one.

The mountains of Idaho loamed on the horizon. I was getting closer. The rest of the journey from Portland had passed in a sort of daze, almost a trance. I could feel it, a sense of purpose was guiding me to this. For the first time in ages, I felt with true conviction as though what I was going to do was the right thing to do.

I could see the dawn coming, over the misty horizon. A new day. A new chance, for everyone. Even fuck-ups like me.

Can you see me, Dad? Can you see what I'm going to do?

I bet you're pissed. You wouldn't want me to leave when everything's suddenly so perfect. I'm back, I'm virtually engaged and I'm finally doing what you want me to. Everything's just perfect.

Fuck that.

That's the difference between us, Dad. You would be happy with this, because this is material success, and it can be measured. I want more than that. I want to have the closest person to me, the other half of my soul back. And that can't be determined or calculated.

This is where you and I differ. I'm never going to be like you. Never.

I can't make it right with you. I can't make it right with the world. I can't make everyone forgive me for what I've done.

But I've got this chance.

One chance. Only one more chance.

I'm not going to fuck it up this time.

* * *

What do you think? Did I get Scott down? As a point of interest, the bit about 'Can you see into me?' I kinda took from the 'A Scanner Darkly' trailer ('Can the scanner see into me?'). Go check it out if you haven't already, it looks awesome!

Please review!


	3. Chapter III: Dreams

**Frisky Wallabee** – Thank you! I really wasn't sure I'd got Scott down all that well, so thanks a ton for your compliments!

**Nidriel** – I'm glad I've got you on tenterhooks! Yeah, I think Scott is a lot harder than Mike because he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, and he's also got a dark, almost malicious streak in him. You don't quite know how far he'll go. But I have to make him really good for this; I refuse to write him like that!

**Beena-Pani** – Oh, I cannot wait for Brokeback Mountain! It looks like a descendant of Idaho, in a weird way. And personally, I really don't like this chapter, so I think it's safe to say I'm not a god! But thank you for your compliments – what you said meant so much to me (hugs).

**Starscar** – Thanks! Sorry I haven't emailed you in a while, I've been snowed under with revision for Physics and other nasties. And I still don't know what a split-ring commutater is!

**LadyOfThieves** – Yay! My mission in life is complete; you are going to volunteer to watch a Keanu Reeves film!

**ix-tab** – Yeah, Mike was, in a weird way, loads easier to write. I'm glad you thought my Scott was pretty good anyway. Oh, and thanks for adding me to your favourites!

Sorry for the long wait, I'm in the middle of my mocks, and I'm meant to be revising. Instead, I'm panicking. How productive. Also, this chapter took over 26 hours to write! Seriously, I totalled it up. Most chapters take me like three hours to write, but this is so surreal and horribly difficult to write! and this is so short! I feel terrible, but I'm in the middle of my exams, so I guess that's my excuse.

Hey…useless trivia, Gus Van Sant once directed a music video for the band Candlebox called Understanding. Nothing to do with why I chose the title, but hey, maybe the universe was trying to tell me something. …

I could still use a beta, as I find writing for MOPI so difficult because I never think I'm getting Mike or Scott right, and the film is so surreal (there's a thin line between surreal fanfiction and plain crap). Now I'm sweetening the deal. If you offer to beta, you get two special MOPI icons and virtual cookies! And I might send you a Dogstar track with Keanu singing on it…any takers? Email me, and you will have my eternal gratitude as well as all the free stuff.

Oh, and go check out my LJ (link in my profile) I've just posted some artwork for Understanding there. Plus, on like December 4th I made a deal that some of you might be interested in…

* * *

**Chapter III: Dreams**

_I'm falling…_

_Why am I falling?_

_Oh. Right. _

_This is a dream. _

_I'm falling and forgetting and leaving everything. _

_Good. _

_This is my place. My sanctuary. And no-one can take this away from me. On the streets, people took my safety, my drugs, my virginity, but this is just for me. It's safe, hidden behind everything else, a private place for me and my memories. _

_It always seems like dreams should be something that can never happen, something really fucking weird, but mine are always kind of normal. More memories than anything else. _

_Like now. I'm back in Idaho. _

_My mom's green house…no, blue…no, green. What the fuck is wrong with me? How can I forget something like this? _

_My mom's dancing. I can see her so clearly that it almost feels like I'm a little kid again, watching her from our porch. But in this dream I'm still me. Like I've just walked back into my memory. _

_My mom smiles. She knows it's me. She's been waiting for me. _

_Mom, what's happening? _

_I suddenly want her to hold me, tell me it's not too late to have all of this. I want her to tell me that it's all okay, that she's here and everything will be okay. I want to jump out of the memory and know what it feels like to be hugged by her. I want to see her face again, properly, at eye level with mine. _

_Would she want me back though? _

_For the first time, I'm doubting this. I'm doubting whether she'd want me back; a son with a fucked-up life who sells his ass to buy drugs and see fucked-up faces in the roads. Would she want a son who's in love with his best, male friend? _

_Suddenly, I'm angry. Why have I got to doubt this? This is a dream. I'm flying free of all the pain and regret and all the shit that I have to live with. I should just forget the reality and enjoy this. _

_I want to talk to my mom. I want to know what her voice sounds like again. I've forgotten. _

_Where are you Mom? What are you doing? Do you have another family? Do you live somewhere nice? Do you ever think about me? _

_Suddenly, my mom's face blurs, and it feels like this is a broken tape stuck on an endless loop, no-one able to break out of their cycle. She's dancing, the expression on her face looking fixed and plastic, her movements rigid. _

_This isn't right. Why am I seeing this now? _

_This is so wrong…It's not meant to be like this. _

_Get me the fuck out of here! _

_It all fades out, and all I can hear is the song rolling around my head, no beginning or end, just an annoying refrain that I couldn't remember the name of anymore…_

You're living in your own private Idaho.  
You're out of control, the rivers that roll,  
You fell into the water and down to Idaho.  
Get out of that state, get out of that state you're in.  
You better beware…

_Beware of what? Why am I remembering this? _

_A large part of me wants to stay here. But I know I've got to wake up sometime. I need to know if this is real. I have to know. _

_But it's better here…I want to stay here forever. With my mom. _

_But it's not real. _

_Why is the reality better than this memory? _

_No. I have to stop this. _

_I want to wake up. _

_I need to step out of the dream. _

_Let me the fuck out of here. _

_I need to get out. _

_Let me out…_

I woke up.

It wasn't a dream.

Scott was next to me in the small car. So close I could smell his skin, feel the heat from his body. So close I could reach out and touch him, speak to him, feel the vibrations of his words in my ears.

It felt like we were the only two people in the world.

The road was entirely empty. It was just us two, us two, chasing the dawn. It didn't matter where the car was going. All roads led to this road.

Though we hadn't said anything, this felt like all the nights on the streets, when we'd just talked, about nothing, and about the most important things. It felt like we were the closest we'd ever been. It felt natural as breathing.

For once, reality felt better than the dream.

* * *

Sorry that was so short, but I thought you'd all prefer a shorter update than a longer chapter that took another month to put up.

Oh yeah, and the song lyrics were from the B-52 song that gave Gus Van Sant the title of the film. Sorry. Couldn't resist.

Two more chapters left! I've got a possible idea for a sequel, but remember, the more reviews I get, the more inspiration I have, so review if you want a sequel!


	4. Epilogue

**Scarstar** – Yeah, I still don't know! My brother, who did Physics AS couldn't tell me! Thanks for reviewing!

**Beena-Pani** – I really wasn't happy with parts of that last chapter, so thank you for giving me some really useful feedback. I intend to go back and edit that chapter at some point, maybe extend it, but I will definitely do something with it. Oh – I cannot WAIT for Brokeback Mountain! It's out in two days here, or more accurately, 27 hours! I get the feeling it's going to quickly become my new obsession. And hugs again!

**LadyOfThieves** – It is pretty fantastic, isn't it? And yes, not one for the parents. Seeing a blow job whilst country music plays as the opening scene might give my dad a coronary! And yes, Keanu Reeves is very hot. I knew my insistent fangirly squealing would get to you eventually (hugs).

Sorry I haven't updated, I've been snowed under with my mocks. Which sucks. And I'll be getting some results tomorrow, and I get the feeling I failed some of them, so I'm more than a little depressed about that. I hope you all had good holidays though, and that 2006 is very lucky and prosperous for you.

The part of the epilogue in italics is a line from a Garbage song 'The Boys Wanna Fight'. That line just struck me as fitting Mike and Scott's situation perfectly.

The final chapter! Squee. I'm bizarrely excited.

* * *

**Epilogue**

That was all it took. A meeting of eyes. Brown to blue. Nothing simpler. But how much can such a look say. How much can be told. How much can be shared.

There were no questions. There were no questions worthy of such a moment. They were old and obsolete, crumbling into dust. This moment was pure and unspoiled, and there was an unspoken need to keep it that way.

Bright sunlight was bursting over the horizon. Mike had been out for hours. But he realised something. He felt at peace, in a way he hadn't ever really done before.

The dawn had come, and with it there was a definite sense of purity. New beginnings. A past erased. Not quite. But for now, he felt clean and new and natural.

Things couldn't go back to the way they were. Mike understood that now. Things between him and Scott were far too complicated for them to go back to their old, friends-only way. He wanted more than that. Right now, he couldn't even tell what Scott wanted. But they had time to figure that out.

It was still complicated. It was still raw. And yet they were both there to try and work it all out.

Mike's thoughts ran around in his head without beginning or end, and, as if hearing, Scott looked at him, just catching his gaze. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Giving up, he settled for smiling at Mike, as if trying to transmit everything that he was feeling in the movement of his muscles. It terrified Mike as much as it elated him, because this tentative, unsure Scott was someone utterly foreign to him.

For the first time, he felt like he was stronger than Scott.

The world – his world – was upside down, and somehow he'd never felt safer.

_The whole world's a stage of complete chaos…_

…but we're waiting in the wings, in perfect silence and stillness, waiting for the next person to make the first move. It would be so much simpler if there were words for this, what they were both feeling. It would be so much easier if both of them could find the courage to admit the obvious.

The problem was, the obvious became the esoteric. But somewhere, sometime, the obvious would become obvious to both of them. And then, maybe, they would finally decide what to do with the life that had been given to both of them.

But they were both there to try and figure out what it was that they wanted. Now, as the small beat-up car hurtled down into oblivion, it all felt so much simpler. When he was back in the city, everything seemed to confuse him. There were so many people and they all seemed to be Scotts to him, or some caricature of Scott sent down to torture him.

Now though, it was just the two of them, out on a road no-one used, and no-one was there, except for the omnipresent fucked up face, always looking down on them both.

Mike looked up, through the car window. Now that he was looking at it differently, the fucked up face had changed. It was softer, subtler, as though it was only there for him, and him alone.

It was smiling on him.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, that's the end. I can only thank everyone who reviewed from the bottom of my heart, especially **Beena-Pani**, for being so helpful in her reviews and also a fellow Brokeback Mountain fan, **scarstar** for always being supportive and encouraging, and **LadyOfThieves**, for reviewing faithfully even though she hadn't seen the film until a few weeks ago. Oh, and also admitting (finally!) that Keanu Reeves is hot (hugs and e-chocolate). But thank you as well to everyone else who has reviewed or even read this story. 

I don't know whether there will be a sequel to this (I had the idea of doing a MOPI story that's just dialogue, as there's no dialogue at all in this story), but I don't really have a definitive plot for one. However, I am certainly thinking of doing a sort of fanfic100 challenge (only not quite) for Mike/Scott. For anyone who doesn't know, fanfic100 involves writing 100 one-shots on a person or pairing from a particular fandom using the prompts provided. Personally, I find that the prompts aren't that inspirational, so I tend to use my own, but I still might give it a go. Would anyone be interested in reading that? Tell me if you are.

I'll be posting news about the sequel at my LJ, so check there for information.

Thank you all again, and I hope you've all enjoyed this story. It's been fun, if a little frustrating to write, and I definitely intend to write some more My Own Private Idaho stories.

In short, thank you, and please review!


End file.
